Watering grass is exhausting

Remember how I said Adam was the one who is good at taking care of anything green?  What does someone from Nevada know about green?  Do you know the only thing you can grow in Nevada in the summer?

...wait for it...

...road construction.

It's one of the few jokes I know.  That and "What did zero say to eight?"

"Nice belt."

Ha.

(I know I've written that on my blog before but when you know so few jokes you have to recycle your material sometimes.)

Anyway.

We were talking about how Adam is the one that waters, remember?

Except he is also the one with gainful employment.  And that glorious sunshine has been doing it's glorious thing and the baby grass needs water.  I have been dutiful, I have been diligent.  I have been doused with water by a sprinkler with a mind of its own and I've puzzled over sprinkler patterns until my puzzler is sore.  I have checked the perimeters over and over to make sure they're getting water.  I am absolutely convinced the sprinkler is smarter than I am and possibly out to get me as well.

Here's why I am being so dedicated to my task:  Adam.   He wants the grass to thrive and I love him enough to battle every sprinkler in America.

Earlier in the day I texted him from the store that my heart pined for a braided rug under the kitchen table.  I texted him a picture of the rug in question.

He texted back:  What do I know about decorating?  You decide.

I'd water a lot of grass for that guy.  He's a good one.

(And the rug looks as pretty under my table as I thought it would.)

I either stood on my kitchen counter to take this aerial shot or I'm really tall.  Believe what you will.